


12 Days of Anderstair

by ponticle



Series: Coffee Shop Universe [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: 12 day writing challenge, 12 days of anderstair, Anal Sex, Bisexuality, Christmas, Christmas Shopping, College, Dressing Rooms, Holidays, Humor, I'll add more as I think of them, LGBT, M/M, Memories, Nervousness, Oral Sex, Past Relationship(s), Relationship(s), Sex, Top Anders, University, a hint of something wrong, anderstair, college boyfriend, hipster, malls, man bun, new relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-08 18:26:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8856175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponticle/pseuds/ponticle
Summary: Beginning immediately after the conclusion of "Coffee Shop, Chapter 1," Anders wakes to find Alistair in his apartment. After weeks of near-misses, he's ready to see where this budding relationship is going. -------------Anders' perspective: first person, present tense.-------------This story will be updated every day for the next 12 days in anticipation of Christmas! Happy Holidays, everyone!





	1. Day One: Snowed In

* * *

 

I wake with a start and I’m not sure where I am. Something is pressing on my chest and I can’t really breathe. I blink a few times and it starts to filter back in—Alistair _came back_ last night. He told me he wants to meet someone nice; he wants to get married someday. Not necessarily _to me_ , but still—it’s something. And the thing pressing on me _is_ Alistair—he weighs a lot.

“Hi,” he mumbles. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, but he wraps his arms even more tightly around my chest and kisses me.

We’re on the couch—we never made it upstairs. We talked until we fell asleep. We’re completely dressed and my clothes feel sort of scratchy, but he’s so warm, I consider just staying there until he crushes me to death.

“Hey,” I take a chance and kiss the top of his head gently. It feels familiar—probably more familiar than we really _are_.

He doesn’t miss a beat. He picks up his head and finds my lips. “What time is it?” he asks when he’s thoroughly aroused me— _of course._

I pick up my phone. “It’s almost 8… I’ve gotta get going…”

He backs up and it feels like all the heat has been sucked out of the room. I shiver. It’s then that I realize I have about 50 unread group texts. That isn’t too unusual… but today lots of them are pictures.

**Fenris** : look at this!

**Fenris** : [picture of snowstorm]

**Isabela** : my car is even worse!

**Isabela** : [picture of car under 2 feet of snow]

It doesn’t escape me that Isabela’s car is parked outside of Fenris’ townhouse. I laugh. But then it occurs to me—this means it’s snowing: _right now_.

“Hey Al,” I call over the back of the couch. He’s padding toward the coffee maker. “I think it’s snowing…”

I race toward the window and pull the blinds. It’s a complete white-out.

“Oh my god, look at this,” I wave him over.

He wraps an arm around my waist as he approaches and it’s so cute I could die, but I try to keep my gaze fixed on the blizzard.

“It’s beautiful. I love snow,” he says.

“Me too,” I smile and he kisses the side of my head.

“Does this mean you won’t have to work today?” he asks.

“I’m definitely not going out in this… I bet the trains aren’t even running,” I answer.

“Good,” he pulls me flush against his chest suddenly.

The next second he’s wrapped his arms around me and he’s kissing me so deeply I wonder if I’m going to suffocate. It seems like an okay ending to my life’s story, though: to die in the arms of this handsome, compelling man who spent the night in my apartment.

“So… what do you want to do today?” he asks. His lips are close enough that they graze mine as he speaks.

Answering this is difficult, because it’s hard to _think_ without any blood in my brain. I shift uncomfortably, trying to remember how to speak.

“Want to go back to bed?” he asks, anticipating my question. “I mean… to bed for the first time, actually…”

I look at him quizzically.

“You know... because we slept on the couch…”

We both laugh as I pull him by the elbow into my room. As soon as we’re inside, he unbuttons his shirt and drops it. I’m not sure if that means I should do that too, but I _want_ to.

“Come here, you…” he bites his bottom lip and holds his hands out.

I remember how soft his skin is from last night, but I didn’t let my lips touch it then. Now, I let them wander across the edge of his clavicle and between his pecs. He settles his hands on either side of my face and runs his fingers through my hair. _God, he’s so gentle_.

“Not to be too forward,” he breathes, “...but I’d really like to get you out of your clothes…” he laughs. It almost sounds nervous, which is a relief, because _I’m_ nervous as shit.

“God, yes,” I laugh and pull my shirt off over my head while he unbuttons my pants.

When I emerge from a pseudo-prison of cotton, he’s looking at me hungrily.

“Bed?” I pull back the comforters and we crawl in, leaving the last of our clothes in a heap on the floor. Once we’re between the sheets, though, I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’ve _forgotten_ how to have sex.

He smiles and runs a hand gently up my side. Our faces are so close together I can’t keep his features in focus, so I close my eyes and kiss him. I seem to be braver with my eyes closed.

“You’re so hot,” he breathes.

_Really_?

“Thanks,” I manage. It’s alarming because _he’s_ the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen and I feel like some kind of lanky teenager by comparison.

“I feel kind of out of shape,” he teases, running a palm down my abs.

I laugh a little _too_ loudly—it’s like an explosion of embarrassment from somewhere deep in my guts.

“May I?” he asks.

At first, I’m not even sure what he means because I feel completely disconnected from my body, but a firm squeeze of the skin of my thigh drives the question home.

I nod.

He smiles and takes my dick in hand. His palms are super soft—like his lips, I’m wondering how he keeps them so moisturized.

“You’re so thick,” he notes.

“Um… thank you?” my voice lilts up and cracks slightly. _Awesome_.

He laughs and grinds his hips forward a little. I feel him nudging me and remember that he has a dick too—and that it’s probably _aching_ just like mine was. I grab it between us and stroke it a few times experimentally.

He groans.

It _should_ be easier—dating someone with anatomy I know intimately—but it isn’t. If anything, it’s more intimidating. I keep wondering if I’m doing this right—if there is some _secret_ that I’ve still never discovered during decades of exploratory masturbation.

He kisses me again and thrusts into my palm. I guess I’m not _horrible_ at this.

“What do you like?” he asks me.

_Why didn’t I think of asking that?_

“You,” I answer. It’s stupid and glib, but I literally can’t seem to think of things I like right now.

He smiles. “Thanks… can I tell you what _I_ like?” he asks.

I nod fervently. I can imagine what his list is going to be like too—he likes getting blow jobs and topping; I would bet money on it. And I like him so much that I’m willing to suck him off _and_ let him fuck me even though I’m not that into it usually.

“I would love to have you coming down my throat,” he growls.

“What?” I ask stupidly. I’m _sure_ I haven’t heard him right.

He blushes. “Please… I want to suck you so bad…” He bites his lip.

Who am _I_ to argue? I nod again and let him push me flat onto my back before he disappears beneath the covers. As he takes me into his mouth, I realize that I’ve _sorely_ misjudged him. He _looks like_ a preppy, powerful, pseudo-jock, so I assumed he’d be like all the douchebags I used to hook up with in college after Karl and I broke up. But he isn’t like that at all.

He sucks and licks the length with a lot of attention to detail. I can’t remember the last time someone gave me a blowjob like this. By the time he starts bobbing up and down under the blankets I want to see what he looks like, so I peek.

He looks up at me and manages to smile even though his mouth is busy.

“Oh god, you’re so good at this,” I say.

He smiles, exposing a canine in a way that I find terrifyingly alluring. I almost want him to graze my dick with that tooth, but I’m not ready to tell him my kinks yet, so I just let my head fall back onto the pillows.

He picks up the pace; adding his fist below where his mouth can’t reach and I start to feel sort of close. My breathing is getting erratic and I want to just let go, but I’m afraid that he’ll think that was too fast or that he wants to do _something else_ and I freak myself out.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I pick up the blanket to look at him and realize I was balling my hands into fists and all the muscles of my legs were probably flexed.

“Yeah…” I grab is arm and pull him up until he’s hovering over me. His lips are glistening and slightly swollen.

“Do you want _something else_?” he asks.

“Just be like this,” I say, snaking my hands between us. I grab both our dicks in the circle of my fists. He thrust in time.

“God, Anders…” he breathes, kissing me again. “You’re so sexy.”

_Really?_ I feel like the most awkward person in the world. This is almost as bad as when I masturbated thinking about him last week. _Oh god, why did I let myself think about that_??

I could have predicted it was going to happen seconds before it starts to—I can’t maintain this erection. I’ve freaked myself out enough that all the blood is draining from my dick and I’m about to be _very embarrassed_ until he interrupts my horrible train of thought.

“—you know… that first night… when we made out on your couch…” he begins.

His dick is still rock hard. I hope he doesn’t notice that the skin next to it is slightly less taut. I nod so he’ll keep talking. It’s a good distraction, anyway.

“I’m not even sure I should be telling you this…” he laughs and kisses me again. “...but I was so turned on thinking about you, I got myself off while we were texting.”

“What?” I ask.

“I _know_ ,” he turns bright red. “It’s so creepy, right?”

“I don’t think that’s creepy… it’s kind of sexy, considering what we’re doing right now…” I respond.

“Really?” he raises an eyebrow.

And suddenly, I’m back—ready to fuck or be fucked or whatever it is we’re heading toward.

“Want to know what I pictured?” he whispers into my ear.

I nod.

“I pictured us just like this…” he kisses the side of my neck, “you touching me…”

I gasp a little.

“...while I sink down onto you…”

_What?_ Oh my god, I had this guy completely backwards. Have I always been this bad at judging sexual proclivities?

“Too much?” He asks suddenly.

I can understand _why_ when I examine myself—I seem to have frozen into some kind of awkward statue.

“God, no… I just didn't know you'd like that…” I mumble.

He lets his body weight fall into me as I wrap my arms around his back. It's the most snugly anyone has hugged me in years and I love it.

“What did you _think_ I'd like?” he asks, kissing my jaw.

“Bending me over something and watching me _cry_ …” I laugh. It's only half a joke, though. I've had plenty of run-ins with guys like that.

“Oh god, no…” he laughs again.

He's gently grinding against me as we cuddle. We're nearing some kind of fucking, but he doesn't seem to be rushing.

“I mean… I'll do whatever you _want_ me to do… but I'd rather like to see you in control…” he kisses me again.

“Be careful what you wish for,” I tease.

He rolls us suddenly until I'm hovering over him. He raises his knees so I can crawl between them. And then it occurs to me—I have no condoms. I guess this highlights how long it's been since I had sex with anyone but myself.

“Listen,” I kiss him gently and try not to freak out, “it’s been a while since I…”

“—had sex with a veritable stranger?” he interrupts.

“Um…” I laugh nervously, “I wasn’t going to say _that_ … I just don’t have any… um…”

He wraps his hands around the back of my neck and kisses me long and hard. My head feels like it’s full of cotton. Then he pulls back.

“Look in my front pocket,” he gestures with his eyes to the clothing on the floor.

I dive out of the bed and find one extra lubricated off-brand condom in his jeans. It doesn’t seem like it’s particularly old, which makes me feel like I’m only the latest in a long string of guys he’s charmed into bed, but I try to suppress it as I rip the package open and roll it on.

“Do you need anything?” I ask him. I’m not normally pleased to be in his position, so I’m not sure if he needs me to _help_ him in some way, but he shakes his head.

“I’m so into you… just go slow at first, okay?” he asks.

He has this gentle, easy way about him that makes me feel at home even though I’m shaking in anticipation. I line myself up and gently start to push. He makes a face, but breathes out through his nose and lets his muscles relax. Before I even realize it, we’re in the swing of things. He feels incredible.

“Oh my god, Al,” I breathe. “You’re amazing.”

“I think _you’re_ the one doing all the work,” he jokes. He’s smiling, but his voice is coming out in bursts and he’s sweating.

“How do you look like this?” I ask unintentionally as I rake my eyes over his body beneath me. I’ve spent my entire adult life in a gym and he’s _easily_ as fit as I am. He’s like an anatomy textbook.

He laughs and reaches up to touch my face. “You’re gorgeous…” he whispers.

I’m starting to feel like I could come sometime soon. The way it feels to be inside him is incredible—I’m afraid I'm _addicted_ already. Feeling braver, I grab his dick between us and start to pump—after all, that’s what he _told me_ he was imagining.

His face contorts, “Oh god, Anders… I’m not going to last long.”

_Thank god_.

“It’s okay,” I brace myself on one arm and thrust in earnest. “I’m close too.” No sooner had I said the words than I feel it start to build. “Oh god, Al…” I breathe.

“Yes, Anders—do it,” he coaches.

At the exact second I’m about to close my eyes and let everything blur white, I feel him come all over my hand. It’s warm and thick and feels like a paraffin dip more than someone else’s bodily excretion.

“Fuck,” I whisper...and then I’m _also_ coming.

A minute later, we’re lying chest to chest, trying to remember how to breathe and speak.

“You are _so_ incredible,” I mumble. My lips are somewhat smashed against the skin of his neck, so my voice sounds funny, but I can’t seem to pick my head up.

“Want to take a shower?” he asks.

“ _Yes_ ,” I answer. “After all… it is a _snow day_ … what else do we have to do?”

 

* * *

 


	2. Day Two: Warming Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Anders are still in the apartment on the second snow day in a row.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T: some talking about sex... but this is mostly just fluff. 
> 
> \----------------
> 
> All these chapters range in length from 900 to 3000 words... I think this is the shortest one... it's mostly transitional.

“Oh my god; it’s freezing out there,” says Alistair.

He’s just come in from the parking structure. He needed to get something from his car, apparently. I keep hoping it's more condoms because I’ve been wanting to fuck him again since two minutes after the first time, but we _can’t_ because I’m not a prepared person. All night, we cuddled and rubbed and stroked, but we had to stop short and it was _killing_ me.

“What did you need to get?” I ask hopefully.

_God, what a creep I'm turning into._

“You’ll see,” he laughs, taking off his hat, which is encrusted with wet snow.

“It’s still coming down out there, huh?” I take his coat and hang it in the hall closet.

“God, yes…” he shivers. “Okay, come here.”

I lean over his shoulder at the island counter. He’s pulling a couple things out of a brown paper bag.

“What is it?”

He looks at me incredulously, “we’re going to make hot toddies—you know, to warm up.” He smiles.

“You know, you don’t have to get me drunk—I already want to have sex with you,” I raise an eyebrow.

“Yeah, except that’s not allowed… and whose fault is that?” he turns and wraps his arms around me, but feigns cross.

“Mine…” I whine, dropping my forehead against his. “I’m the worst.”

Then he laughs and pulls one more thing out of the bag, “I had a whole box…”

I’m not sure whether or not to be happy. I mean, I really, _really_ want him, but the fact that he had _just_ bought a whole box of condoms at the store supports my previous hypothesis about his dating habits, doesn’t it?

I don’t mean to, but I back away from him a little. He must feel it, because he cocks his head to the side and squints at me.

“Something wrong? Oh god, are you a recovering alcoholic or something?” he looks stricken.

I laugh a little, “no… thankfully.”

“Then what’s up?” he asks.

“Nothing… let’s make a drink and sit by the windows…” I suggest. “I want to see the snow.”

“Okay,” he smiles, “go get settled and I’ll bring these over.”

I grab some blankets and pillows and curl into the sofa. It’s so peaceful. While I’m waiting, I pull my phone out to check in with the group. They’re talking about nothing in particular, but there are over 30 texts since the last time I checked. I love these guys.

 **Anders** : hey guys, how’s snow-day-two treating you?

 **Hawke** : so far so good. Merrill is cooking up a storm of cookies.

 **Isabela** : You’re wasting a snow day baking? You’re supposed to be having sex.

 **Fenris** : …

 **Isabela** : come on, Andy, back me up.

I debate about whether or not I want to tell them, but I decide to anyway.

 **Anders** : this _has_ been a good weekend...

 **Hawke** : whatttttt???

 **Anders** : [blushing emoji]

 **Fenris** : It _is_ lucky that you live in the same building with your new boyfriend.

 **Anders** : he isn’t my boyfriend—not yet anyway.

 **Isabela** : is he still there?

 **Anders** : ...yeah.

 **Isabela** : then he’s your boyfriend. If you want to keep it casual, you’ve got to kick him out after the naughty parts.

I laugh aloud at that and Alistair picks his head up from the bar.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“Oh, it’s just my friends…” I mumble, still smiling at my phone. “They’re asking me about you…”

“Oh yeah?” he grins and walks over toward me, two steaming mugs in hand.

“They’re probably impressed that you haven’t run away screaming yet,” I laugh.

He wraps an arm around my shoulders and reads the last few texts before I can shut off the screen.

“Not _yet_?” he asks, referencing my own words.

“Well…” I squirm uncomfortably. It’s never nice to be the one to admit to liking someone _first_ , but he _has_ been pretty candid over the last 24 hours. “I really do like you a lot…”

He laughs and kisses me. “Can I please tell your friends I’m your boyfriend?” he asks suddenly.

“Well, only if it’s _true_ ,” I joke.

“Oh, it’s true,” he assures me. “Give me the phone.”

For some reason I do it. It’s _mad_ because who hands over their phone to some rando? But he’s getting less random all the time, I guess. Apparently, he’s now my boyfriend.

He types as me.

 **Anders** : Hi. this is Alistair. I am most definitely his boyfriend.

I laugh at the absurdity.

 **Isabela** : see? Told you… they always think you’re serious if you let them stay over… tsk tsk.

 **Anders** : I _am_ serious.

 **Hawke** : wait, is this Alistair again or really Anders?

 **Anders** : lol. It’s really Anders. But we’re both serious—equally.

“That’s true, right?” I ask Alistair. He reads what I’ve typed and nods, so I hit send.

“Well, now that we’ve gotten _that_ out of the way…” says Alistair, encircling me in his arms, “taste this drink I made…”

I reach for the mug and let the plumes of steam waft between us. It smells like cardamom and honey. “What’s in this?”

“Just try it,” he smiles.

The first sip is arguably too hot, but it feels wonderful sliding down into my gut. “This is great.”

“I’m glad you like it…” he kisses my cheek. “That’s the first drink I ever made you—someday we might think back on this as a really special day…”

“I already do,” I kiss him and realize that I’m warmer than ever—but not from the drink this time.


	3. Day Three: Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The snow has finally stopped. Alistair and Anders head to the mall to finish Anders' holiday shopping. Something is slightly amiss, but Anders ignores it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T: just some mild language.

* * *

 

“Well, I think we’re finally free.” I breathe out in wispy white tendrils and clap my gloves together, sending bits of powdered snow everywhere. The snow finally stopped last night and although the cleanup is still underway, my car is free.

“You make it sound like you were working on algebra problems all weekend…” laughs Alistair.

“Get over here,” I pull him into a hug and whisper into his ear, “It was the best weekend ever… and now we get to start a new week together—out in public, where people can see what a gorgeous couple we make.”

He laughs and kisses me before rounding the car to the passenger side door.

“So where are we going?” he asks.

“Well, I have to get gifts for Isabela and Merrill,” I explain. “I’m already done with Hawke and Fenris…”

He reaches out to touch my hand where it’s resting on the shifter. I could die of happiness.

“...and then I need to get an outfit for Hawke’s Christmas party… it’s totally epic…” It suddenly occurs to me that he should be there. For the first time in _years_ I will be able to go to the party with a date!

“Oh my god, Alistair—you can come to the party with me!” I say.

“Okay… when is it?”

“A week from today—7pm—up at Hawke’s family’s place,” I explain. “He has a sister you’re going to really like.”

“Great,” he’s still rubbing little circles over the back of my palm. “What kind of outfit are you looking for?” he asks.

“It’s kind of a _swanky_ affair,” I raise an eyebrow at him in my periphery, “...so something stylish.”

“Can I help you pick?” he asks.

“Sure.”

The rest of the car ride, he tells me about his favorite Christmas carols and the way his aunt used to sing to him when he was young. It’s sweet and it’s one of the first times he’s told me something about his past. I try to hold onto all the details so I can reference them later—if it seems appropriate.

We arrive at the mall along with about two dozen other dazed-looking shoppers. Everyone seems to be foggy after three days snowed in.

“Let’s look at clothes first,” suggests Alistair.

He drags me by the arm into a rather fashionable menswear store, _Club Monaco_. I’ve never shopped here before, but I always look in the window as I pass.

“Okay, let’s see some things…” says Alistair.

“You know… I’m not really _this_ kind of gay…” I joke. In truth, I don’t actually identify as _gay_ at all, but he knows what I mean—that I don’t really get excited about fashion.

He laughs, “Neither am I… but I like your _body_ —and clothes go on it, so I’m told…”

With renewed enthusiasm for dinner jackets, we pick out a variety of options and find our way to the dressing rooms. A young woman who works in the store shows us to two dressing stalls side by side. I _almost_ tell her we can go into one, but I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself, so I smirk at Alistair and close the door.

The first outfit he tries on has me half-hard already. It’s a deep red velvet blazer with a satin lapel, paired with charcoal grey trousers. The shirt he has on underneath is an ironic choice: a deep V in a thin material.

“You look perfect,” I manage. I’ve completely forgotten that _I_ am dressed to the nines too. I can’t even remember what garments I chose to put together as I pull him into my arms and kiss him.

“Thanks,” he looks at himself in the three-way mirror at the end of the hall and tugs on the hem of the shirt. Then he looks at _me_ , “You look gorgeous. _Buy_ that—buy _all_ of that.”

We both laugh and turn to look at ourselves side by side.

“We look _really_ good,” I smirk at our reflections.

“Okay, we’re ready for this party—now let’s deal with your gifting,” he says, stepping back into his dressing room. He winks at the threshold.

At the checkout counter, I decide to do something galant. “Let me get these,” I say quickly enough that the check-out person takes my card straight away.

“What?” Alistair tries to argue, but he’s too slow. I’m already signing my name before he really understands that I just bought all our clothes.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” he says, back in the main part of the mall.

“I wanted to,” I argue. I kiss his cheek, but he’s decidedly _unhappy_. I can’t understand why. “Besides, I’m the one who insisted you go to this party…” I mumble, trying to smooth things over.

“I get it,” he says. “Let’s just get the things for your friends and head back…”

 

* * *

 

We spend the next little while walking through shops without really talking. I have a goal in mind of getting a set of really nice copper baking trays for Merrill and a couple hats for Isabela. Alistair trails me by a few steps, but he hasn’t reached for my hand since the other store and I’m not sure why. I was just trying to be _nice_.

At William & Sonoma I find the baking dishes I was looking for almost instantly, but I absolutely love this store, so I linger a little, picking up fancy dishes and investigating the inner workings of espresso machines.

“Hey, do you think I should get this?” I ask Alistair. I’m holding up an apron that says, ‘kiss the cook.’

He laughs, “You don’t need to ask me twice.”

For the first time in an hour, he leans in and kisses me right on the mouth. People in the store _gape_ at us—it would be _a lot_ even if we were oppositely gendered.

“Maybe I should get more shirts with sayings on them…” I mumble against his cheek. “ _Suck the cook_ , for example,” I whisper.

He laughs and pushes me toward the register so we can continue on our way to the hat shop. He seems to be doing better—whatever happened in the first store is becoming a memory.

In the hat store, I find three hats that scream Isabela. The first is a blue patterned beanie that will look perfect with her black waves peeking out around her face. The second is a white, wide-brimmed sun hat, and the third is a dark blue fedora. She’s going to love them. Alistair models a few hats for me—every single one seems to look perfect on him. I try to fit several hats over my hair, but it’s a losing battle.

“That’s what you get for having this hipster haircut,” teases Alistair. He prods my bun and rubs his hand along one temple, which is shaved.

“I happen to really like my man-bun, thank you,” I pout at a mirror, but smirk as soon as he kisses my cheek.

“I like it too…” he wraps an arm around my waist and continues talking to my reflection. “Want to have lunch before we go?”

I nod. I guess I _am_ kind of hungry. It’s amazing what new relationships can do—I hadn’t thought about food in days. I was on an all-Alistair-all-the-time diet.

 

* * *

 

We slide into the bar at a lowly lit place I really like. Alistair orders some obscure IPA.

“ _Now_ who's the hipster?” I joke.

He smirks and grabs my hand, which is resting against the bar. Instead of pulling it into our laps, or something less conspicuous, he kneads the palm in full view of the entire restaurant. He’s so unlike other people I’ve dated.

“So… tell me some things about yourself,” I ask. To be fair, it sounds like a demand, but I’m trying to work on being direct.

“Like what?” he asks. He sips his beer and smiles, but he hasn’t let go of my hand yet.

“Um… when did you come out?” I blurt.

_Nice one, Andy… way to start with an easy one._

His eyes widen momentarily, but he regains his composure quickly. “In college—like most people. I first came out as gay actually, but I identify as bisexual now,” he explains. “What about you?”

“Me too.” I pull my hand out of his grasp and run it over my forehead. “I mean… I’m bi, also… but... I’ve mostly dated men… and I came out in college too.”

“ _Neat_ ,” he says. He looks sort of skeptical.

“Did your parents react okay?” I ask.

He nods. “I actually don’t have parents, per se… I was raised by my aunt and uncle and they were fine with it.”

“Oh.” I’m afraid I might have just stepped in it. I don’t want to bring up unpleasant memories this early in our relationship—less than _one week_ in—but I’m really curious. “Did you know your parents?”

He looks taken aback, but answers anyway, “I didn’t know my mother at all—she died when I was a baby, apparently,” he clears his throat. “...and I know _of_ my father—but I never met him.”

“That’s interesting…” I mumble. “My parents live in Europe—I haven’t seen them since I was young… my friends here have really become my family over the years.”

“That’s nice,” says Alistair. His face brightens. “How did all of you meet?”

“Oh!” I tap his shoulder for emphasis, “ _that_ is a story that would be much better told by all of us at once…” I laugh. “In fact… would you maybe like to get together with all of them this week? Tomorrow or something?”

He nods.

“I’ll set it up.” I pull out my phone to text the group.

 **Anders** : want to get together tomorrow night at my place?

 **Anders** : actually, scratch that—Alistair’s place?

I’m leaning in so Alistair can read over my shoulder. He gives me a quizzical look.

“You don’t have any Christmas decorations up,” I shrug.

He laughs and nods.

 **Anders** : we need to put up his Christmas tree and we’d love to have you guys over.

 **Fenris** : I’m in. What time?

 **Isabela** : you’re already inviting us to group outings? This is serious…

I feel my face getting hot, but Alistair kisses my cheek, which makes me feel brave.

 **Anders** : Like 8?

 **Merrill** : I’ll be there with Hawke.

 **Merrill** : [selfie with Hawke making goofy faces]

 **Isabela** : [sexy selfie]

 **Fenris** : [grouchy selfie]

“Come on, we have to take one,” I say to Alistair.

He looks at me skeptically.

“It’s a thing we all do,” I roll my eyes and put an arm around his shoulders, holding my phone up at least thirty degrees. “Smile.”

 **Anders** : [insanely happy selfie with Alistair looking hot as shit]

 **Anders** : See you guys then!

We spend the rest of dinner chatting and making the restaurant patrons feel awkward with unbelievable levels of PDA. I’ve never been so happy to be stared at—my boyfriend is gorgeous and kind and practically perfect in every way. _Le Sigh_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow's prompt is Decorating Together... which turns into something a bit more sinister. Days 4-9 are my favorite, I think. :) 
> 
> \------------
> 
> Thank you soooo much for all your support so far! It can be hard to get fan-engagement for rare pairs, and you guys have been so-super-amazing. :)


	4. Day Four: Decorating Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Alistair have everyone over to decorate Alistair's place. Things don't go exactly as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T: or maybe even G... nothing racy happens... we're just sliding into an angsty series of chapters.

* * *

 

The next morning I have to go to work. I open my eyes and turn to face the person I already love waking up next to. It’s alarming, really, four nights ago, I couldn’t even have imagined this.

“Good morning,” I whisper.

“I’m not ready,” he mumbles, burying his face in the crook of my neck. “Just one or two more days and then we can go back to life…”

I laugh and hug him into my chest.

“I have clients _every hour_ today—they’re all backed up from the storm,” I explain. “Besides, don’t your interns need you?”

He picks his head up and squints at me, “It’s winter break, babe.”

It’s the first time he’s called me by a petname. I’m not sure I like _that_ one, but I like the idea of having one ultimately.

“I have some paperwork I could do, but I was going to work on that from home anyway…” he adds. “So I’m pretty much at your disposal until your friends come over tonight.”

“I like the sound of that,” I grab the skin of his hip and pull him close to me. “But I _really_ need to go. We’ll talk tonight.”

           

Outside, the trains are finally running again, so I put on my gloves, hat, and scarf, and walk toward the T-stop.

On the way, I get a text.

 **Alistair** : I can’t get out of your bed. Send help.

 **Anders** : what kind of help?

 **Alistair** : ...just come home?

 **Anders** : home? You live there now?

That was a glib thing to say, and I instantly regret it, but the internet being what it is, I can’t take it back. I curse myself internally as the train pulls up and I have to put the phone back in my pocket to swipe my charlie card. There aren’t any free seats this morning, so I lean against a poll and pull my phone back out. There are three texts from Alistair.

 **Alistair** : Very funny.

 **Alistair** : Okay, I didn’t mean to be insensitive…

 **Alistair** : I’m going to go back to my apartment now. We can talk later.

 _Great_. I’ve managed to offend him during our first text conversation in days.

 **Anders** : you can stay there if you want. There’s a spare key in the left hand drawer next to the fridge… feel free to take it.

 **Alistair** : now you’re giving me a _key_? You really _do_ want me to move in.

 **Anders** : Or maybe I want to trade apartments—yours is nicer… and it will be spectacularly decorated after tonight. Make sure you bring the decorations up from my place, okay?

 **Alistair** : lol

 **Alistair** : [selfie in bed]

Oh god, he’s so good looking, I’m going to die.

 **Anders** : are you trying to get me hard in public?

I laugh because I’m basically sexting again—I went from no sexual contact whatsoever for years to _this_ in a matter of days.

 **Alistair** : is that what’s happening?

 **Alistair** : [another selfie—focused on his torso]

 **Anders** : I’m putting my phone away now. You’re the worst.

 **Anders** : ...and best.

 **Alistair** : [kiss emoji]

 

* * *

 

The day goes by in a total haze. I do lots of good work and come home sort of sweaty and tired. Instead of going right up to Alistair’s, I elect to shower and change in my own place. I have this idea that I’d like to arrive looking comfortable and really put together, since he’s seen me with rumpled hair and sweat across my brow so often lately.

When I arrive upstairs, I hear old-timey Christmas music wafting gently into the hallway.

“Hi,” he says, before I’ve even knocked.

“Hi,” I step in past him, “how did you know it was me?”

“You have very distinctive footsteps,” he laughs and kisses me.

“It looks great in here,” I mention. He’s set out all the decorations from my place in the middle of the room and the whole place smells like Christmas candles.

“Thanks…” He pulls me against his chest. “You know what else looks really good?” he smirks. “ _You_.”

He kisses me again, a little deeper this time and he’s half-unbuttoned my shirt before I free myself. “Al...they’re going to be here any minute… and I just ironed this shirt…”

He laughs and backs up, electing to lean against the counter. “Well, let it be known that I was thinking about you _all_ day…”

“I bet you were,” I tease.

There’s a knock at the door. We adjust ourselves almost in tandem and laugh at the absurdity before opening the door as a unit.

“Hi!” yells everyone at once.

Merrill is the first in. She seems to have brought enough food for thirty people with her. Hawke and Fenris have been recruited to carry most of it. Isabela, who always gets out of grunt work, floats in last and drops her coat into my hands.

We make quick work of the tree and hang strands of lights along the banister and windowsills. By the time we’re done, the whole place looks incredibly festive. We turn off the regular lamps and bask in the dim yellow glow of the Christmas lights while we eat the enormous amounts of food Merrill made.

“So,” I lean my head against Alistair’s shoulder briefly, “Alistair wants to hear the story of how we all met… and I thought that would be fun to tell together.”

Everyone laughs and tightens our circle on the floor in front of the tree.

“Well,” says Hawke, “it all started with _me_ , actually…”

We groan in unison. Hawke thinks he’s the glue that holds us together.

“It’s _true_ ,” argues Hawke. He’s laughing, though; he can’t sustain even _pretend_ outrage. “Okay, here’s how it went down… Anders and I went to college together…”

Alistair reaches his arm around my waist and pulls me into his side.

“I met him when he was still in pre-med…” says Hawke.

Alistair interrupts, “you were going to go to medical school?”

I shrug. It occurs to me that he has the job I always wanted, but was never smart or _brave_ enough to really pursue. The face I make seems to tell him that I want to talk about it _later_ , because he lets it go and hugs me even tighter.

“So he was trying to save the world and whatnot,” continues Hawke. “...but he was running himself ragged… so as we got closer, I started to tell him that he needed to take a break, come hang out with me and my other friends, or he was going to totally crack up.”

Merrill laughed in apparent anticipation of something funny. I knew what it was, but I was primarily watching Alistair’s reactions.

“We used to hang out with this other guy—his name was Varric,” interrupts Isabela. “He owned this bar just off campus… he was the one who really _initiated_ Anders into our group.”

“I’m getting there,” says Hawke.

Isabela raises her palms in surrender and laughs.

“So I take Anders down with me and Varric is convinced that we’re dating,” says Hawke.

I feel Alistair tense a little next to me, but he relaxes almost as quickly. I chalk it up to a _reflex_ and let Hawke keep talking.

“Well, you _were_ sort of hooking up,” says Merrill innocently.

Everyone pauses for a beat and looks at Alistair before continuing.

“Well, that’s neither here nor there,” continues Hawke. “The point is… Varric made it his mission to get Anders soooo drunk.”

“He asked me if my _breasts_ were real,” says Isabela.

Alistair laughs a little.

“He wanted to see the _entirety_ of my tattoos.” Fenris sighs and rolls his eyes.

“...and he asked _me_ if I would find out if Hawke liked him…” Merrill adds. She looks up at Hawke like he’s an Adonis. There was a time when I sort of thought that too, but she is a better fit for him than I _ever_ was.

“The _ending_ of the story, of course, is that Hawke and Merrill got together _that night_ and they’ve been together for a decade,” I add desperately. I realize now that this whole story might _not_ be hilarious from Alistair's point of view.   

Hawke nods enthusiastically. “…and the point of all this _embarrassing_ information is that we all knew each other really well after that… we were inseparable.”

I kiss Alistair’s cheek and laugh again while the rest of the gang shrieks out their memories. He smiles, but I can tell he’s withdrawing. It reminds me of what happened in the store yesterday—a reaction I still can’t understand.

When everyone eventually leaves, he tells me he needs to get to sleep and kisses me goodbye. Staying, apparently, _wasn’t_ an option. I trudge back down the 48 steps to my apartment somewhat dejected and crawl into my bed alone. I don’t feel _bad_ , exactly, but I sure don’t feel _good_.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revising with I said yesterday... my favorite days are 6 (day-after-tomorrow) and 10 (christmas eve). I can't wait to show all of you what I've got planned. :)


	5. Day Five: Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair comes by Anders’ apartment with a peace offering. Things get a little steamy. Anders thinks about the progression of his life so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E... shower things. ;)

* * *

 

The next morning, there’s a knock at my door. I have already been up for a while listening to NPR and drinking coffee, but I’m still shirtless. I peek out the peephole and see that it’s Alistair. He’s holding something.

“Hi?” I smirk at him.

“Hi.” He holds up the thing in his hands. It’s mistletoe. “Kiss me.”

I open the door wider and lean into him under the frame.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says after we’ve separated. “Can I come in?”

I nod and lead him to the couch. Once we’re there, I curl into his chest and make sure we’re eye to eye. In my experience—which is not particularly vast, as we’ve already established—it’s always best to have tough conversations with as much skin-to-skin contact as possible.

“So… what happened?” I ask.

“I didn’t know you used to date Hawke,” he says.

“It was a really long time ago,” I blurt.

He looks skeptical. “I get that… but people don’t usually hang out with their exes as much as you hang out with Hawke.”

I feel a little _attacked_ by this and wonder where it’s heading. After all, _he_ was hanging out with his ex—or _non-ex_ , I’m still not sure—last week.

“I was just _surprised_ ; that’s all.”

“Well, don’t be jealous,” I put my hand on his cheek. “I’m so into you it’s insane—and I don’t think about Hawke like that at all anymore.”

“I know…” he shrugs.

We pause and look at each other.

“When do you have to be at work?” he asks.

“A little over an hour—I have to take a shower in a minute.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Can I _help_ you with that?”

The idea of getting him all wet turns me on immensely. “Yes… but I want to make sure we’re _okay_ …”

What I _mean_ is: I don’t just want to have sex until we _forget_ that we’re mad. It’s so easy to cover up problems with massive amounts of fucking early on in relationships. I want this to _last._

“We are… I just had a weird feeling… but I’m over it,” he says. “You’re amazing…”

“ _Flatterer…_ ” I rumple his hair and stand suddenly. “Let me go turn on the water… come in when you’re ready.”

A minute later, the bathroom starts to fill with steam. By the time I step inside the shower, I can barely see two inches in front of my face. I’m completely soaked when I hear the door creak open. Alistair is behind me a second later.

“I have been wanting to get you into a shower since I met you,” he whispers into my ear. “You are so gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” I mumble. I reach behind me to grab onto his sides. The angle is awkward, but I come to appreciate it as soon as he follows the line of my hip to grip my cock with both hands. His hands are slick with soap, which is a mixed blessing. It feels amazing right now, but it makes everything so _dry_ later. I make a mental note to moisturize thoroughly when this is all over. Maybe he’ll _help_ me.

I push my ass back against him and move so that his dick is flat against the crease. He shivers.

“I want you so much,” he says.

“Me too,” I lean my head back onto his shoulder and try to surrender to the fact that he’s beating me off in earnest.

“I want you to come,” he says.

“ _Already_?” I joke.

“Whenever it feels right…” he almost laughs. He’s grinding against me harder than ever.

I decide that I’m just going to do—let it _happen_ and see how I feel afterward. It’s always a gamble to do that, because the second erection can be rather _elusive_ , but I’m so into him, it feels like I might be able to do it.

“Oh my god, Al, just like that,” I lean more of my bodyweight against him and kiss the side of his neck.

He kisses the side of my face and neck and licks the edge of my ear as he coaxes me to the edge. And then I’m coming. It completely surprises me—all of a sudden I’m spilling all over his hands and watching the come and soap circle the drain. My legs threaten to give out and I decide to go with it. Before I know it, I’m on my knees in front of Alistair’s hips.

“How can I make you feel good, Al?” I ask. I’m getting braver the more we have sex. I’m almost at a point where I could self-advocate— _almost_.

“Suck me,” he says. Definitive—solid. He’s so _good_ at making decisions.

I nod and suck him into my mouth. As I let my jaw go slack, he thrusts into my mouth vaguely in time with my bobbing.

“Oh god, Anders…” he stutters, “I’m gonna…”

I grab his ass with both hands to say, ‘ _do it; I want you to come down my throat_.’ As I’m bracing myself for the inevitable orgasm he’s about to have, I notice my erection has returned.

_Nice work, Andy._

A second later, he holds _absolutely still_ as he comes. He tastes like the ocean.

He kneels in front of me. “Oh god, you’re incredible…”

I kiss him, thrusting my tongue into his mouth. I hope he’s the type of guy who is okay with tasting himself. He doesn’t make a face, so I take that as confirmation.

We kneel like that until my knees start to hurt. I’m completely engrossed in the feeling of his lips and tongue and teeth, but I know I have to go to work.

“This is incredible… but I have to go,” I whisper. Water is still raining down on us when he kisses me again—more seriously this time. It’s definitely a goodbye kiss—something to help me remember him throughout the day. _As if I could forget_.

 

* * *

 

“Will you be around tonight?” I ask, once I’ve finished dressing and gathered my things.

He nods. “I have some things to work on… but just drop by my apartment later and maybe we can do something together.”

I smile. At the threshold, he runs up to me and holds an arm up over my head. I follow his fingers with my eyes.

“Wait… you need to kiss me again—it’s a rule.” He’s holding up the mistletoe.

I kiss him one more time. It almost turns into something else, but I’ll be late.

“I have to go…”

“See you tonight,” he whispers.

 

* * *

 

At work, I’m not booked as solidly as usual. It’s only 5 days until Christmas so people aren’t hitting the gym as hard. It gives me a chance to run through _my own_ training program. I am very serious about practicing what I preach in terms of training. I write myself 4-week programs every month and try to stick to them as _religiously_ as possible. It isn’t really about looking good, at this point—although that’s always _nice_ —it’s really about staying healthy and preventing injuries when I'm older.

It’s not something I usually like to think about, but I’m in touch with the fact that I’m getting older all the time. I’m _two years_ into my 30s already… an age where I once anticipated being _married_ and maybe having kids. Now that I’m here, though, I can’t believe I ever thought I’d be wise or _settled_ enough to do that. I feel as unprepared and unseasoned today as I did when I was twenty-two.

I suppose I _am_ closer than I was last year at this time. I have a really great boyfriend. It’s all new and sort of tenuous… but at least he _exists_. Thinking about Alistair reminds me that I’m going to get to see him tonight. I am counting the minutes. I haven’t cared about anyone this much in ages.

 **Anders** : how’s your day going?

 **Alistair** : pretty well—just working on a couple things… I’ll see you tonight?

My heart flutters.

 **Anders** : yup. I’ll be back around 7:30…

 **Alistair** : just come up to my place… [heart]

Picturing what our meeting tonight is going to feel like, I settle into my training and lift heavier than I’ve been able to in ages. This relationship is bolstering—I’ve never felt so _alive_.

 

           


	6. Day Six: Ugly Christmas Sweaters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill and Hawke stop by with gifts. Anders tries to smooth things over between Alistair and Hawke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T: nothing racy in this chapter... but it is full of angst.

* * *

 

 **Merrill** : Andy, we’re coming over. Are you home?

 **Anders** : who is we? ...Define ‘home’

Alistair and I were cuddled into his couch upstairs. I was starting to think of it as an extension of my home—it was only two floors up.

 **Merrill** : Hawke and I just went on an extremely important shopping trip

“Is it okay if Hawke and Merrill stop by here?” I ask.

Alistair turns his head to read the text over my shoulder. “When?”

 **Anders** : when will you be here?

 **Merrill** : about 10 minutes.

“I guess it’s fine,” says Alistair.

 **Anders** : Alistair says come over—we’re at his place.

 **Merrill** : [heart]

“We should probably get dressed…” laughs Alistair. He pulls the blankets back to reveal our mostly naked bodies. At least we were wearing underwear—I had a rule against being naked on leather.

“Do we have to?” I ask, turning to kiss him.

“As much as I’d like for your ex to see me ravaging you…” he growls and pushes me flat on my back.

“That’s overstating it a bit… he’s _barely_ an ex,” I roll my eyes.

“Well, _whatever_ …” he kisses me a couple more times before hopping up and walking toward his closet. “Do you want to borrow something? I think all you have are pajamas…” he calls.

It was true, actually. I’d come up before bed last night and never made it back to my apartment. “I guess so… what do you have?”

“How about these?” Alistair appears with a pair of jeans and a thin, black, v-neck tshirt. It’s all very soft-looking.

I dress while he watches me—it’s a little odd, but sexy. His clothes are slightly too big for me, but they feel wonderful, like wearing a hug.

A moment later, there is a knock at the door. I can hear Merrill giggling.

“Hi, guys,” I say with a smile. Merrill hops past me into the room and hugs Alistair. He looks a little bewildered. Hawke seems like he's going to hug me—he often does—but he stops just short. He probably feels weird about the other night too.

“We’ve got something for you,” says Merrill. From behind her back, she pulls an enormous green gift bag and pushes it against my chest. It hits me with enough force that I almost falter backward.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Open it!” she shouts.

Alistair hovers over my shoulder as I pull out inordinate amounts of tissue paper. When I finally get to the bottom of the bag, my hand hits something soft. I pull and discover… the _ugliest_ Christmas sweater I have ever seen. It’s bright green, like the bag, with red and blue pompoms all over it. The whole thing is topped with a bow on the left shoulder that has free-flowing ribbons coming out of it on all sides.

I burst out laughing, “ _What_ is this?!”

Merrill and Hawke can’t hold it together either. Alistair looks horrified.

“Look deeper in the bag, Andy,” says Hawke. He touches my shoulder in an affectionate way I would never have even _noticed_ normally, but I’m afraid that Alistair didn’t like it and I flinch away from him. It only succeeds in making it a _bigger_ deal. I curse internally as I plunge my hand back into the bag.

“It’s…” I pull out the thing I’ve managed to grab onto. “ _...another_ sweater?”

“Yes!” shouts Merrill. “For Alistair!”

This one is arguably worse than the first. Its red background is adorned with a felt Christmas tree right in the middle. It has shiny, plastic ornaments all over it.

Alistair laughs and blushes, holding the monstrosity up to his body.

“So… Merrill…” I smile, “what—exactly—are these _beautiful_ garments for?”

She looks at Hawke devilishly. “They’re for Hawke’s Christmas party!”

“What?” I gape.

“We’re all going to arrive in them to prank Leandra!” she cackles.

“But… we bought outfits…” I wrap my hand around Alistair’s waist and smile at him. He looks _so_ good in that outfit.

“You’ll still get to wear them,” explains Hawke, “once she’s completely losing her mind because of what her ‘society friends’ will think, we’ll change.”

“Who’s idea was this?” I ask.

“Isabela’s… but she didn’t think we’d actually do it,” answers Merrill. “I am the one who bought the sweaters.”

Alistair had been rather quiet since receiving his gift. He was still holding it awkwardly.

“If you two want to switch sweaters, you can…” says Merrill, looking at Alistair’s expression. “I just really thought you’d look great in the Christmas Tree.” She smiles up at him so gently—it breaks right through that mask he’s wearing.

“No, Merrill—I really _love_ this… _thank you_ ,” he laughs.

“Okay… well, we’ve got to get going—we’ll see you at the party… if not sooner!” says Merrill, turning back toward the door.

“Where are you guys going?” I ask.

“To get some dinner and do a couple errands,” answers Hawke. “Do you… want to get a drink with us?”

I almost agree straight away, but realize that I’m part of a ‘we,’ so I look back at Alistair first. Of course, he can’t really say ‘no’ now… he’s on the spot. He nods agreeably.

“Great, let’s do it. I just need to grab a coat,” I peck Alistair’s cheek. “I’ll swing by my apartment and meet you downstairs.”

Once I’m alone, I start to hatch a plan for making Alistair and Hawke friends. I want any residual weirdness between them to dissipate so we can all enjoy the holidays. After all, this _is_ my favorite time of year.

Outside on the sidewalk, Alistair is smiling down at Merrill while she explains something. I’m not close enough to hear what she’s saying, but she’s gesturing wildly, so I’m sure it’s something funny and adorable.

“Hey,” I wrap my warm around Alistair’s waist and kiss his cheek.

He looks mildly surprised, but smiles. “Ready to go?”

I nod and we head down toward the train.

“Where are we going?” asks Alistair.

The three of us burst out laughing. We only _ever_ go to the Hanged Man when we’re together. It’s sort of stupid, but it’s a tradition.

“The Hanged Man,” I grab Alistair’s hand and pull him onto the train platform. “We’ve been going there for a decade… we even sit in the same seats all the time.”

“That’s actually the bar we met in too,” says Hawke. “Varric doesn’t own it anymore, but he comes by sometimes.”

Alistair smiles, but I’m not sure what he’s thinking. He seems to be withdrawing again.

The train pulls up and we file in. There aren’t very many seats available so Merrill sits on Hawke’s lap. That size differential is one of the only things I miss about dating women. Well, I _guess_ I could date a really small man, but that’s not my taste. I imagine trying to let Alistair sit on my lap and grin stupidly. In my imagination, he completely squishes me—flat as a pancake against the yellow train seats.

“What?” he asks.

“Oh…” I laugh, “I was just imagining you sitting on my lap…” I say it under my breath so that Merrill and Hawke won’t hear, but they’re so involved in each other, they probably wouldn’t have noticed me _screaming_.

Alistair raises an eyebrow, “clothed?”

I laugh again, “yes, clothed… although now I’m picturing something _completely different_.”

We laugh and he kisses me. Everything seems like it’s going to be okay.

 

* * *

 

But it _isn’t_. Two hours later, everything is falling apart.

“Where are you going?” I’m running after Alistair on the sidewalk. It’s snowing a little—just enough to make my neck cold.

“I just need to get out of here,” says Alistair.

I have no idea what I’ve done that made him leave like this. He hadn’t yelled. He hadn’t said _anything_ , really—he just said goodnight and walked out.

“Why?” I ask as I catch up to him. _I’m quite a runner_.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m just not super good at hearing stories about every time you and Hawke did something together over the last decade.”

“We’re just _friends_!” I argue. “He’s with Merrill!”

Alistair sighs, “He touches you _a lot_.”

“Not in a _romantic_ way.” I’m about to start yelling, even though I don’t want to. The only thing I hate more than arguing is not being listened to. It reminds me of life at home with my parents—being constantly interrupted, constantly talked over.

“Anders,” he puts an arm out to keep me at a distance, “I need to go home. We can talk later.”

If I were braver, I’d push him against the building next to us and force him to stand there until we were done with this. But I’m _not_ brave. I’m just hurt—already… _one week_ in.

“Fine,” I acquiesce.

I let him get about 10 steps away and suddenly blurt, “But if you walk away right now I’m _done_.” I have no idea where that came from. It was an _attempt_ at the bravery I wish I had, but it _isn’t_ brave; it’s just mean.

He turns incredibly slowly, an incredulous look on his face, “Don’t give me ultimatums, Anders…”

I’m about to argue that it wasn’t an ultimatum and apologize for my momentary insanity, but he keeps talking.

“I don’t let people _control_ me… not _anymore_ …” The last part is an aside, but it _implies_ that something horrible might have happened to him—something he hasn’t recovered from.

“Alistair—I’m _sorry_ —”

“—Don’t,” he interrupts. “I need some space.”

There’s nothing else to say. In my mind, there’s a scenario where I scream out that I love him and we run toward each other through the snow and next week we’re married and living in the suburbs with a dog and two cats… but that isn’t real life. I’ve managed to ruin everything.

So I let him walk away.

 

* * *

 


	7. Day Seven: Holiday Stress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders deals with the fallout of his fight with Alistair and remembers Christmases-past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T: angst and some funny memories.

* * *

 

“Sorry, I have to take this…” says Hawke. He pushes back from the table and ducks out onto the sidewalk.

We’re back at the Hanged Man even though it’s the site of yesterday’s tragedy. I’m calling it a break-up now. It feels _final_.

“Anders…” Fenris leans into the table and slightly covers his mouth so only I can see what he’s saying. “Are you all right?”

I shrug. I don’t _feel_ all right. This feels just like the last time I thought I’d never see Alistair again, only this time it’s _my_ fault, so it's a hundred times worse.

“No, I'm not okay,” I say honestly.

“What happened?” asks Fenris.

“I don't even know—one second everything was fine and the next he was yelling at me about trying to emotionally blackmail him…” I run a palm through my hair and sigh.

“It sounds like you need to find out,” says Fenris.

Hawke is suddenly back and sits between us, effectively blocking our conversation.

“That was my mother,” he announces. “She wants to know the final _headcount_ for the party.” He looks at me fearfully.

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say. I don't know how to tell if this is going to pass with Alistair or not. I think _not_.

“I think it's just going to be the five of us,” I say finally.

Everyone sighs collectively. _This is my life—forever alone._

 

* * *

 

Back at home, I realize my whole place is a mess. I haven't really been sleeping here—I've been _fucking_ here, but that's different.

In the process of cleaning up, I realize that beautiful suit I bought for Alistair is still hanging on the back of my bedroom door. I don't want to look at it so I shove it into my closet and try to forget its existence.

 **Anders** : guys… this sucks.

 **Isabela** : want me to go up to his apartment and beat him up?

 **Fenris** : please don't do that.

 **Anders** : no beating necessary.

If anything, I feel like _I'm_ the one that needs a punishment. I did _something_ that didn't go over well. I know now it has something to do with control—with a power differential—but I have no details. He didn't _share_ that with me. The more I think about it the angrier I get.

 **Anders** : I'm just kind of pissed.

 **Merrill** : why?

 **Anders** : because obviously he has some kind of _thing_ going on… but he didn't think it was worth explaining… he didn't think _I_ was worth it, I guess.

 **Hawke** : don't say that… you're amazing.

My temper flares a little. Hawke says that _now_ , but _he's_ the one who once-upon-a-time fucked me and then threw me away… I'm about to give him a piece of my mind, but I stop myself. This is just _anguish_ talking.

 **Anders** : I need to chill out tonight. I'm going to disconnect for a while. Talk tomorrow.

I put my phone on its dock and turn on some Christmas music. I need to get things in order—in my apartment _and_ in my brain.

Eventually, I finish cleaning and put myself to bed—a dreamless sleep that is so deep I wake up confused.

For a second, I think I hear Alistair making coffee—but it's just an illusion. It's amazing how addicted to him I am—it's only been a couple weeks. I guess it hurts because I thought this was going to be _the_ relationship.

I get up and take a shower before checking my phone. When I look at it on my way out the door, my heart sinks.

 **Alistair** : are you up? I think we should talk.

That was last night.

 **Alistair** : okay… I guess I can take a hint.

That was this morning—almost 2 hours ago.

 **Alistair** : wow. I didn't think you'd be like this. After this week I thought…

 **Alistair** : whatever.

I dial his number the second I've finishing reading. I'm sweating and swearing under my breath while I wait for him to answer.

“Hello, you've reached Dr. Theirin. I'm not available to take your call right now…” says his message. His voice sounds so calm and even.

“Hi… it's me—Anders. I missed your texts last night because I fell asleep without my phone. I'd really like to talk… If you still want to…” I mumble. “Just let me know.”

I hang up and try to figure out what to do next. I decide that I'll go to his apartment. It's harder to ignore a real live person. I climb the stairs two at a time and knock on his door.

Nothing happens. _Shit._

I knock again. Still nothing. _Fuck._ _He must be out._

I pick up my phone again.

 **Anders** : Hey… I left you a vm… I would really like to talk.

I don’t have to work today, which is actually worse than the alternative. It means that I need to find something else to fill my time. I decide to go out—nowhere in particular: just _out_.

On the city streets, everyone is rushing. It reminds me that this is a terribly stressful time of year for everyone, not just sad people whose relationships are in ruin. It’s stressful for parents who feel like they can’t do enough for their kids. It’s stressful for spouses who want to to spend time together, but are behind at work. It’s stressful for people who don’t celebrate this holiday because their days will be interrupted without any reward. The holidays pretty much suck.

They didn't last year, though.

* * *

 

**1 year ago**

“Andy, let’s just _do_ something!” Isabela tugs on my arm and pulls me into a bar we don't know. Inside, an annoying number of people are wearing Santa hats.

We sit in an inconspicuous spot at the edge of the bar so we can look out. Isabela likes to people watch.

“Okay, what about _her_?” she points to a young woman with several friends.

“She's the alpha, clearly,” I laugh. We play this game all the time—telling the stories of random strangers we see.

“How can you tell?” she asks.

“Well,” I lean in so as not to be overheard, “she's the prettiest one by far… and look at the way the other women are looking at her—like she's a star.”

Isabela rolls her eyes, “I bet you ten bucks I can have her screaming my name by the end of tonight.”

“You're on,” I laugh.

I watch as Isabela sidles over to the girl in question. She's blonde—probably quite a few years younger than we are. Her makeup and clothes _scream_ sorority girl. When Isabela leans in, I know it's _on—_ no one escapes her. Except a second later, the girl is coming over toward me. I straighten, suddenly not sure what to do with my hands or how my hair should look.

“Hey, I'm Stephanie,” she says. It's such a _sorority_ name.

“Anders,” I shake her hand and try not to let my voice shake with it.

“Your friend told me you're a trainer,” she says. “I'm studying exercise physiology at the university.”

“That's neat. What year are you?” I ask.

“I'm a sophomore…” she bites her bottom lip and twirls a long blonde curl around her index finger.

The rest of the night passes easily. She wants to ‘ _show me her dorm_ ,’ which I'm not opposed to, but I'm not sure if I should leave Isabela—she's disappeared somewhere into the crowd of Christmas merrymakers. I send her a text.

 **Anders** : it seems like Stephanie wants to get out of here… with me… are you okay?

 **Isabela** : what's that? I can't hear you over all that nervous whining…

 **Anders** : lol

 **Isabela** : get your dick wet. See you tomorrow at Hawke's.

She's crass, but she's right—it has been ages.

“Ready?” asks Stephanie.

I nod and follow her out onto the street. As it turns out, her dorm is only two blocks away. It's an old brick building with rod iron fire escapes—not unlike my own dorm once upon a time.

“I’m on the fifth floor,” she announces, pushing her shoulder into the main entrance door. Ice around its edges is making it stick. I put a palm on it and give it a few more pounds of force. It swings in.

“Thanks,” she winks up at me and smiles.

“So, do you have a roommate?” I ask.

“She’s away for Christmas break already,” Stephanie explains. “So I have the whole place to myself.”

Her intentions aren’t lost on me and I feel ready… ish… The only barrier is the five flights of stairs we apparently have to take to get up to her room.

“Elevator’s broken,” she shrugs.

By the time we reach the top, I’m vaguely sticky. I’m fit, but _no one_ can climb that many stairs without sweating.

“This is me,” she announces at 578.

Inside, the air is incredibly stale. It makes me want to cough and then immediately leave the room. But not as much as what I see next. As soon as she flicks on the light I know I’ve made a _grave_ mistake. One entire half of the room is covered in stuffed animals. The bedspread is pink—I swear to god it has unicorns on it. I try not to freak out as she turns toward me and puts her arm around my waist.

_Please let this be her roommate’s stuff._

“So this is my bed…” she claims the Pepto-Bismol-monstrosity and tries to push some of her stuffed animals to the sides. There are so many that it’s almost impossible, though—they keep falling back into the middle of the bed. As if that weren’t bad enough, they all seem to be _facing_ me. No matter where I move in the room, their eyes follow.

I wish there was a way to text Isabela with my mind. I need to be _rescued_.

When she’s ineffectively made a space in the center of her twin-size bed—which, mind you, would have been too small for both of us even _without_ the stuffed animals—she sits on it and pats the bedspread for me to sit next to her.

I’m horrified, but I manage to make my knees bend in the right way to sit down. She’s kissing me the next second. Her mouth tastes nice and her lips are soft, but I can’t stop thinking about a particular teddy bear I saw over her shoulder. Its eyes were a little lopsided and it seemed to be leering at me. It’s probably getting off on this whole show. Maybe she’s doing this _for_ the bears.

Just as I’m wondering how I’ll ever get out of this, I’m getting soaked. I look up in confusion and discover the sprinkler system has been engaged. Without thinking, I grab the teddy with the lopsided eyes and use it as an umbrella.

Stephanie shrieks, “Not Boo-bear!” and grabs the bear away from me.

It’s so ridiculous, I start to laugh, which Stephanie does _not_ find funny.

The door opens and a bunch of other random students call to us to get out of the building. An alarm is blaring in the hallway so loudly that it makes me feel both deaf and blind. In the crowd, I lose track of Stephanie, but I’m actually relieved.

By the time I make it down the five flights of stairs with hundreds of students packed in around me, I discover that I’m not only soaking wet, but freezing and miserable. That’s when someone taps me on the shoulder.

“Hey, are you okay?” asks Isabela. She leans into my face and pushes a soaked piece of hair off my forehead.

“Yeah,” I mumble. My teeth are chattering. “How did you know where to find me?”

She laughs and wraps her jacket around my shoulders. “After you left that girl’s friends told me she’s insane and that I shouldn’t leave you alone with her. So I started a fire…”

I feel my face fall, despite how much I’m shaking, “What?”

“Just a little one,” she assures me.

“Oh my god, Bel…” I chatter, “You’re insane.”

“You’re welcome, Andy…” she kisses my cheek and wraps one arm around my freezing shoulders. “Now, let’s get you home and into some dry clothes.” 

* * *

 


	8. Day Eight: Exchanging Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders ventures out to do an errand and runs into Hawke in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T: I feel like I can never really rate anything lower than T because my characters swear randomly and talk about adult-ish themes without meaning to. ...so T it is.

 

* * *

 

“Just take it _back_ ,” I growl at the girl behind the desk. She can’t be older than 16 and I seem to be terrifying her.

“Listen, this gift was just an absolute mistake,” I explain. “I bought it for my boyfriend…” a voice inside insists I should have said ‘ex,’ “...but as it turns out, we aren’t going to be together for Christmas and it seems incredibly inappropriate now…”

“I’m so sorry, Ser…” she bites her lip “but we just _aren’t allowed_ to take things back once the tags have been removed.”

I can clearly see that arguing with her further is not going to help. I resign myself to finding another use for that stupidly gorgeous suit. This whole day has given _‘exchanging gifts’_ a new meaning. I decide to call Isabela and see if she can get me into trouble like she has for the last several Christmases in a row—they aren’t _always_ as disastrous as last year, but they’re usually just as hilarious.

“Hi Bel,” I say when she answers.

“Hi...” She sounds out of breath.

“Want to meet me downtown…? I’m at the mall,” I explain.

There’s a lot of shuffling and crashing on the other end of the phone. “Um… I’m a little busy right now… give me…” she breaks away from the phone and I hear someone laughing—it sounds like Fenris. “Give me like an hour…?”

“Bel… did you just answer your phone during sex?!” I cover my mouth so that anyone who happens to read lips won’t be able to see/hear what I just said.

“Sue me,” she says. I hear Fenris say something else that I can’t understand and she suddenly hangs up.

I’m again alone in the mall with this stupid suit in a garment bag at my side. I’m tempted to just throw the whole thing over the second-floor railing, but I decide against it—seems like a waste. Maybe I can have it tailored to fit me.

I wander into the bar where Alistair and I had drinks the other day—it was only four days ago, but it feels like a different lifetime. The bartender is the same one who was working that day. She seems to remember me—she smiles. While I’m sitting, someone calls my name from over my shoulder. It’s Hawke.

“Hey Buddy,” he says, pulling out the chair next to me.

“Hey…” I drop my head into the crook of my elbow on the bar and growl.

“ _That bad_ , huh?” He pats my shoulder and rubs a spot between the blades.

I look up at him. “I think I’m _dead_.”

He cocks his head to the side and looks at me skeptically. “Well,” he touches my cheek, “You don’t _look_ dead… but it might be too soon to tell.”

I laugh. The way he’s looking at me vaguely reminds me of when I first met him. He was so _snarky_ in college. It was one of the things I really liked about him. Merrill tamed him a lot—it’s a mixed blessing: he’s _sweeter_ , but he’s also less fun.

“What are you doing here?” I ask him.

“Getting a few last gifts,” says Hawke. He suddenly turns pink and shoves one of his bags away from my line of sight. “None of them are for _you_ ,” he laughs.

“I hope you got me something awesome, because this whole mess is basically your fault.” I realize I’m not being funny, only passive-aggressive and I try to take it back. “I mean… it’s _not_ —I’m sorry I said that.”

He waves me off, “I get it…”

We both take sips of our drinks silently and stare off in opposite directions. We’ve managed to be friends without any weirdness for almost ten years post-sex, but _one_ insinuation and it’s suddenly _weird_.

He clears his throat, “I hope you know… _I_ don’t think it’s strange that we still hang out…”

I want to say something reassuring, but I don’t know what.

“...I really _love_ hanging out… you’re so important to me…” he sputters. “But I'm with Merrill—I don’t think of you _like_ …”

“—I know, Hawke,” I interrupt. I drop a hand on his shoulder. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“I just hope I didn’t _really_ cause this…” he mumbles.

I shake my head.

“Can I be honest?” he asks.

“Of course—always.”

“If he can’t stand _hearing_ about you dating someone else a _decade_ ago, that’s _his_ problem, not yours,” says Hawke.

I can’t really argue with that—it seems completely unreasonable to me too.

“I just keep thinking that there must be something else going on…” I pass a hand through my hair and sigh. “I just wish he would talk to me… I feel like we could fix it—together.”

Hawke raises an eyebrow. “You sure are putting a lot of trust in this guy… you barely even know him.”

That seems sort of disparaging. I frown. “I just really felt like…” I interrupt myself. What I am about to say seems ridiculous.

“Felt like what?” asks Hawke.

“...like he might be _the one_ …” I bite my bottom lip and feel a bubbly feeling in my guts. It scares me a little.

Hawke looks at me pityingly, “I’m really sorry, Buddy…”

I shrug. “At least I have you guys… you’re the best.”

We smile at each other.

 

* * *

 

With that out of the way, we spend an hour drinking and laughing while he pretends _not_ to know what Merrill got me for Christmas.

“I will be _so_ nice if you tell me,” I laugh.

He shakes his head.

“C’mon, Garrett!” I whine, “After the week I’ve been having… I think I deserve it.”

“You _deserve_ to be surprised…” he rolls his eyes and catches a glimpse of his watch in the process. “I have to get going… are you going to be okay?”

I nod and stand. “Yup… I’m just gonna head home and plan my funeral.”

He laughs and pulls me into a hug that is, arguably, too tight; but he feels like _home_ , so I don’t struggle.

We say goodbye and leave in opposite directions. I catch a glimpse of a shop employee hanging a suit on a fake door in a display window; it gives me an idea. _I’m going to leave this fucking suit at his door_.

I race the rest of the way home and take the elevator to the fifth floor. In case he catches me, I don’t want to be out of breath from stair-climbing.

When I get to his hallway, though, it’s deserted. I hang the garment bag from the doorknob and think about walking away, but I want to say _something_. I grab an old receipt from my pocket and scribble a passive-aggressive note.

 **[** Alistair, I thought you might want this. Even if you don’t, I can’t look at it; so please take it. —Anders **]**

 

* * *

 


	9. Day Nine: Christmas Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders remembers a Christmas with his most major ex: Karl. In the present, he realizes what he really wants from Alistair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T: mentions of sexual activity... and there is probably swearing... there always is...

* * *

 

The last time I had a boyfriend for Christmas, I was in college. _How sad is that?_

Anyway, he was a pretty great guy—obviously he wasn't _perfect_ or we'd still be together… but he was _nice_ ; he had good intentions. His name was Karl.

 

* * *

 

**10 Years Ago**

“Love you,” Karl whispers one morning. (We were incredibly maudlin.)

“Love you too,” I parrot. (We were sleeping in his dorm room at the time. He was making instant hot chocolate and humming Christmas Carols across the room from me before he realized I was awake.)

“So… what do you want to do for Christmas?” he asks, handing me a styrofoam cup.

I back up to sit against the headboard. The bed creaks slightly as I move. “It depends… do you think I’ve been naughty or nice this year?”

He laughs and scratches his head, “I think… _nice_ … but in a naughty way.”

“What kind of gift does that net me?” I ask.

“A nice, but naughty, one,” he puts his cup on a nearby chair and rolls over me. He has this hair that has been grey since he was 18—it’s a family trait, apparently—and I just _love_ it. He looks distinguished.

“I think you’ve been _very nice_ ,” I whisper. “So that might get you a similarly nice gift…”

“Are these from Santa or _you_?” he asks. His nose brushes against mine.

“Santa would be _scandalized_ if he saw what I’m planning to give you.”

We both laugh.

“I actually have to leave for a little while this afternoon,” he says. His tone is suddenly dark. He stands and crosses the room.

“Why?”

“...to see my _parents_ ,” he grimaces.

I am not in a position to see mine—they basically gave up on me years ago. I came to college across the ocean to spite them, but they never seemed to care.

“Is that bad?” I ask.

“It’s not great,” he admits. “We have kind of a complicated relationship…”

I crawl forward to the edge of the bed, pulling the sheets with me. “What kind of relationship?”

“The kind where I told them I wanted to bring my boyfriend home with me and they said _no_ ,” he says.

“Oh…” I look down at the floor and purse my lips. I’m not sure how to respond. I want to tell him I’m _happy_ that he mentioned me—that he ever considered having me meet them—but I’m too sad to say it.

“There was no room for arguing,” he sits across from me and takes my hands. “...but I’ll talk to them again when I see them later… I want to make sure they—”

“—Don’t.” I look up at him earnestly, “It’s not worth it.”

A bemused expression crosses his face. “It’s _worth it_ —I love you.”

Little did I know, _that_ was the beginning of the end. When Karl came back from our next school vacation, he was a little different— _distant_ … and I never got to meet his parents, despite his plans.

 

* * *

 

**Presently**

I roll over in bed and hit my alarm clock, which is blaring annoyingly on my bedside table. It seems _impossible_ to get going today. I keep running over the Karl story in my head. It seems about on par with the Alistair story in terms of tragedy. I pick up my phone to check for missed things, but nothing is there. It’s _unusual_ , actually, because Hawke’s mom’s party is tomorrow night. I thought someone would be saying _something_ about it.

 **Anders** : what’s up, guys?

 **Hawke** : nothing. Feeling better today?

 **Fenris** : are you sick?

 **Hawke** : no… Fen… _emotionally_.

 **Isabela** : I explained it.

 **Anders** : thank god you’re around, Bel… What would Fenris do without you?

 **Isabela** : lol

 **Fenris** : [scowling selfie]

 **Isabela** : [kissing selfie]

 **Anders** : so what’s the plan for the sweaters tomorrow?

 **Merrill** : we’re going to get all dressed and ready, get into the limo, and then put the sweaters on once we’re inside, so the driver doesn’t see them.

 **Anders** : 1. We’re taking a limo? 2. Why does it matter if the driver sees?

 **Hawke** : he’s on my mom’s payroll… that answers 1 and 2 right?

 **Anders** : lol

 **Fenris** : my sweater is making me itchy. I think I’m allergic to whatever it’s made of.

 **Anders** : allergic to ‘tacky’

 **Isabela** : no, he wears plenty of hideous things on his own.

I roll out of bed and wander into the kitchen to make coffee. I haven’t heard a peep out of Alistair since the other day even though I left him his suit last night. I wonder if it’s still hanging out there on his doorknob. I wonder if he’s been home _at all_. A voice in my mind suggests that maybe he’s wherever that Cullen person hails from. Maybe they’re waking up in bed together _right now_. Maybe they’re _fucking_ … then I picture it and start to feel ill.

I shake my head and decide to eat something small to settle my stomach before I pour liquid acid into it. It seems to be rumbling enough already. I grab a banana and start to peel it when there’s a knock at my door. For a mad second, I think it might be Alistair.

“Hello?” I say, opening the door.

“Hi,” says Hawke. He’s holding two lattes. “I thought you might not be _that_ okay after our conversation yesterday.”

I shrug and let him in. It occurs to me that I’m shirtless and that _could_ be construed as weird, but I think it would be _weirder_ to run for my closet right now.

“So have you heard anything?” he asks. He leans across my counter and sips his latte rather noisily.

“No…” I let my elbows rest on the granite between us and sigh. “Should I call him again?”

“You _could_ ,” he sounds noncommittal. “But do you have anything _new_ to say?”

“Not really… I just want to know what _happened.”_ Once I’ve said the words aloud, though, I realize that isn’t really _true_. “Actually, Hawke… I think I want to tell him something _else_ …”

“What?”

“...that he can _trust_ me,” I say definitely. “That whatever happened to him, _I’m_ the person he can tell without fear.”

Hawke looks mildly surprised. “That’s a really _nice_ thing to want, Andy.”

“It _is_ , isn’t it?” I laugh at myself. “...and it’s _true_ —I literally want to be there for him without an ulterior motive… I mean… I would like to _bang_ him a few more times…” I smirk. “...but on the whole, I just want him to know that I’m _here_ —no strings.”

“Then I think you should _definitely_ call him,” he says. “Want me to stand here for moral support?”

I smile. I kind of _do_. I nod and pick up my phone. It goes to voicemail again.

“Hi, you’ve reached Dr. Theirin…” he says melodically. I drum my fingers on the counter until I hear the beep.

“Hi,” I clear my throat—suddenly it’s a _desert_. “It’s Anders… _again_. Listen, I just want you to know… I’m here for you. Whatever you’re going through… whatever happened—you can tell me. The way I behaved on the street was stupid and childish. There is no time limit on when people are ready to talk about things. When _you’re_ ready, you know how to find me.”

“That was great,” says Hawke. “You seem like you’re okay, so I’m gonna head out…”

“Thanks, Garrett—I really appreciate it…” We’re hugging again. His peacoat is scratchy, but the hug isn’t _weird_ , which is a relief after the week we’ve been having.

“See you tomorrow night at the party, right?” he asks on his way out.

“You can count on it.”

* * *

 


	10. Day Ten: Christmas Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of Hawke's family party has arrived. Anders isn't having the best pre-Christmas week, but he's ready with his hideous sweater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M: No sex, but lots of swearing and tough emotional stuff.

* * *

 

“Ready, Andy?” asks Isabela. We’re all crouching behind a huge hedge on the Hawke family lawn.

“I think so,” I say. We’ve pulled our Christmas sweaters on over our dress clothes and we look _horrendous_. No matter how upset I am about the thing going on with Alistair, this is _hilarious_.

We sneak up to the front door and Hawke rings the bell. Bethany, Garrett’s little sister, opens it and bursts out laughing. Her boyfriend, Sebastian, looks _less_ entertained—his face is the same color as I expect Leandra’s to be.

“This is your craziest prank ever,” she laughs.

Hawke shrugs, but he _does_ look pretty pleased with himself.

Sebastian steps out onto the stoop with us to inspect our sweaters more carefully.

“Hey, Anders,” Hawke pulls me to the side.

“Yeah?”

“I need you to grab something from the limo—I forgot my pocket square in the back seat,” he says.

I roll my eyes at the errand, but he’s been so nice to me this week, I don’t complain. I smile and head for where a long line of limos are parked.

And then… _he’s_ right in front of me—hideous, sparkly Christmas-tree sweater and all. “ _Alistair_?” I manage. “I didn’t think I’d see you here—or… _ever…_ ”

“I know…” he says. He kicks a clump of snow near his foot. “I called Hawke…”

“You _did_?” I ask.

He nods sheepishly.

“Do you want to go somewhere… _talk_?” I ask. To be honest, I want to kiss him and forget all of this ever happened, but I know that isn’t the right choice.

“Yeah…” then he holds his hand out. The implication is obvious—it’s just a small gesture—but I can’t _believe_ he’s doing that: holding his hand out _for me_ to take.

I grab it. There’s nothing else to do but accept this little movement of potential reconciliation.

At the stoop, Hawke smiles at us and winks at me subtly. Merrill is beaming.

“Ready?” asks Hawke. We all nod and prepare to go through with this ridiculous sweater plan.

He knocks.

Leandra opens the door in grand fashion. The second she sees us her face falls.

“Garrett,” she gasps.

“Leandra,” he bows slightly and kisses her hand as if he’s some kind of Duke.

“ _Garrett_ Hawke,” she says through the vice of her smile, “you take those off _this instant_ —before someone sees you.”

“Take off _what_ , Mother?” he feigns ignorance.

She starts to flush. At the same time, she seems to notice there are _six_ of us, not five. I can see her counting with her eyes. I'm not sure what's more of a faux pas in her eyes—the sweaters or showing up to a party with someone _uninvited_.

Hawke holds his mother’s stare for an uncomfortable amount of time. Finally, when we’re all starting to think this was a bad idea, his face cracks.

“All right, mother, you win,” he laughs. “I suppose I’ll put on this _tacky_ wool blazer instead…” It’s funny because I bet his tux costs more than my rent.

The rest of us follow suit, throwing our sweaters off to reveal tuxedos and formal gowns. It doesn’t escape me that Alistair is wearing the suit I bought him.

When we’re all put back together, she stands aside to let us into the house. Actually, to call it a house seems _wrong_ —it’s a _mansion_. The entryway is as big as my whole apartment and the double staircases that go up to the second level are marble.

The people at this party are just as stuffy and conservative as the house itself—Leandra probably would have had a _cow_ if things had gone differently with Hawke and me. It makes me a little sad to think about it, but I can’t ruminate too long. All I can think about is the apology I’m going to have to deliver to Alistair as soon as I get him alone. The problem is, I don’t know what I’m supposed to apologize _for_.

With the prank out of the way, I grab him by the crook of his arm and guide him through crowds of laughing snobs.

When we reach a small study, I close the double sliding pocket doors and sit. He follows me. We’re far enough apart that we can’t touch, which I think is probably better.

“Before you say anything,” I begin. “I just want to say I’m sorry.”

His brow furrows. “Why?”

 _Shit_. _Other than what I’ve already told him in my phone messages, I have no idea._

“I… I know that I hurt you…” I sputter.

He shakes his head. “Stop… I’m here to apologize to _you_.”

“You are?” I ask.

He nods. “I completely freaked out the other day—and it had _very little_ to do with you… I need to tell you a story… and then maybe you’ll understand…” he clears his throat. “…and if you’d rather not see each other anymore after that… I will respect that.”

I can’t _imagine_ what he’s about to tell me, but I fold my hands in my lap and straighten. It’s _listening posture_ that I hope conveys my level of engagement.

“It has to do with my friend… Cullen…” he begins.

I unintentionally clench my jaw. I hope he hasn’t noticed.

“He and I were friends for a long time… like a decade… except we weren’t _really_ friends—I was secretly in love with him.”

I am working incredibly hard to keep my face neutral. I’m not sure if I’m succeeding.

“So I followed him around like a puppy for years and years, all the while believing that he was _also_ in love with me but that we were both too sheepish to say anything,” he rolls his eyes—apparently disgusted with himself. “… _or_ that it was just because I was in a serious relationship at the time… _or_ because he didn’t want to ruin our friendship… or something _ridiculous_.”

I nod.

“So I held my tongue and _hoped_ —all the while becoming the receptacle for his emotions and secrets. He told me _everything_. Sometimes I felt honored—to be _the one_ who he trusted—but usually I felt like my heart was breaking,” he grabs his chest and clenches his fingers into the skin. The gesture is chilling. “…but I went on and on like this until I finally couldn’t take it anymore. This summer, I told him how I felt.”

“Oh god,” I gasp.

He raises an eyebrow, “I know… it was _crazy_. After a variety of conversations that you _don’t_ need to hear, it became apparent that he never loved me—not even a little; not for a second.”

“Wow…”

“…but he was happy to _use_ me for all those years. For emotional support, as a storage locker for his secrets, as a wingman…” He sighs. “And all the while he kept me hanging on by doing things that led me to believe he loved me— _buying_ me shit, _calling_ me a hundred times a day, referencing our _secrets_ in public. _Fuck_ , he had a whole set of facial expressions he _only_ used for me.”

He was starting to yell. It freaked me out—not because it was _scary_ or _threatening_ , but because it was an obvious reflection of how much _pain_ he was in.

“But when it finally came down to it, even though he _knew_ that's how I felt—it was _obvious_ —he didn’t have _one_ good thing to say. He couldn’t even muster a fucking apology…”

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” I interrupt. And it’s true… I really _am_ sorry—but I don’t see the parallel yet. I don’t understand what this has to do with _me_.

“When I found out that you and Hawke have been friends for a decade—and that you used to be _something_ … that’s all I could think of… that _you_ were the person who kept stringing him along for all those years… that _you_ were the one who never loved him at all…”

I try to argue, but he holds up a hand to stop me.

“ _Or_ —even worse… that you were the one who _loved_ him—that you’re tormented by the fact that he’s never acknowledged you. That every time you see him with Merrill you want to die. That you _cry_ alone in your car, thinking of _insane_ scenarios where you finally profess your love for each other.”

“Alistair—“

“…so I _freaked_ out…”

“Alistair, it’s not like that—not at all,” I reach out to grab his hands and lean until he has no choice, but to look right at me. “The only person in the world I care about is _you_.”

He sighs. “It’s really scary for me to hear that—because it’s exactly the kind of thing I would have said to Cullen… and just half a year ago… it would have been true.” He lets that sink in. “Fuck.. _two weeks ago_ it might have been true…”

That bit hurts. I feel my chest collapse a little.

“But since we met… everything has been _different_ …” he cocks his head to the side, and he’s almost smiling. “…when we got together I thought I was cured… but the scars run deep, I guess.” The smile fades.

“Then let me _help_ you,” I blurt. I have no idea _how_ , but I want to.

“I don’t know how,” he echoes my thought.

“Then we’ll figure it out together.” I’m feeling alarmingly brave and self-assured, considering what he just told me.

“Anders, you don’t have to say that,” he says.

“I’m not,” I argue. “I would never—I _care_ about you.”

He smiles, but it’s wry—there’s a morbid joke in here somewhere.

“This is a _lot_ of shit to lay on someone this early in a relationship—I’m sort of disgusted with myself,” he says.

We both smile. He’s still holding my hand.

“Oh my god,” I finally take a second to look at him and laugh. “I can’t believe you were wearing that sweater.”

He laughs and looks at himself. The suit I gave him is all bunched up and wrinkled.

“You got my gift, I see?” I ask.

“Yeah… that _note_ you left was its own reward,” he says sarcastically.

“Sorry about that,” I frown. “I was still in the angry phase when I left it.”

“I get it,” he says. He stands and tries to smooth the lapel of his coat. It actually works—like a Christmas _miracle_ —and he looks better than I can imagine a human looking.

I stand so we’re face to face.

“So… it’s totally up to you what happens now…” he says. “I completely understand if this is too much…I've been destroying your life for the last two weeks.”

Instead of dignifying that self-effacing drivel, I grab both sides of his face and kiss him. When we separate—a little breathless—I smile.

“I am so _honored_ that you told me that… It shows that you’re exactly the kind of guy I hoped you were… the kind of guy I’d really like to be my boyfriend,” I smile hopefully.

He laughs and kisses me again—gently. “Okay… then let’s go out there and scandalize all these upper crust types with serious amounts of dancing and making out.”

We exit the study hand in hand.

 

* * *

 


	11. Day Eleven: First Christmas Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders wakes up in a Hawke mansion guest room. Christmas brunch follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E: some sexual activity.

* * *

“Good morning,” I whisper. Alistair is hovering over me, his lips making trails of kisses across my chest. I’m barely even awake, but I’m aware that my dick is sort of hard. I wonder how long he was doing this before I woke up.

“Hi,” he kisses my lips and slips his tongue between them. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Butterflies tumble in my abdomen.

“Shh,” I whisper, “someone might hear us…”

“Let them… I'm crazy about you…” he says. 

We’re sleeping in one of the many guest rooms in the mansion. The whole thing smells like fresh Christmas cookies and pine.

I wrap my arms around him and crane my neck to kiss him more deeply. We made love twice last night, but I want him again—it’s insatiable. I grind my hips up toward him and he moans.

“You're incredible, Andy,” he breathes. “Absolutely the most gorgeous person I've ever fucked.”

We both laugh.

“Hey,” I say suddenly. “It's Christmas!”

Alistair backs up a little and smiles down at me.

“Merry, Christmas, Alistair.”

He smiles. “Merry Christmas, Anders.”

“I didn’t get you anything…” I admit.

“You bought me that suit,” he points to it—it’s crumpled in a ball in the corner of the room.

“Well, nothing _else_ ,” I clarify.

He rolls so he's lying next to me, but one of his legs is still draped across my hips. I keep accidentally rubbing my dick against it. It's not strictly my fault— _he's_ the one who got me all hot and bothered.

I nod. “I will give you lots of gifts later, though… anything you’d like.”

He runs his index finger along the branch of my throat and looks over at me. He seems like there’s something he wants to tell me, but I can’t figure it out. He’s sort of mysterious.

“I would like you to thank Hawke for me,” he says finally.

I squint. “For what?”

“For picking up the phone when I called…” he sighs. “It was actually _alarmingly_ hard to get his number… I called the wrong Garrett Hawke four times.”

Garrett is so old fashioned, he actually has a landline. It’s a good thing too. Otherwise, Alistair _never_ would have been able to find him.

“What did you say to him on the phone?” I ask. It’s none of my business, actually, but I’m really curious.

“I told him I had made a huge mistake,” he admits. “...and that I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t get through to you… if I just let you get away… because—” he falters slightly. “Because you might be _the one_ ,” he says.

My jaw is flopping open, I can feel it.

“I said the same thing,” I say.

“He _told_ me… he said that’s the _only_ reason he would help me arrange this ridiculous sweater-party-meeting-scenario,” laughs Alistair.

“...knowing that you really did feel the same way—that this _means_ something—made me brave enough to tell you that whole story,” he kisses me again.

“I think I’m going to die,” I announce.

He laughs, “why?”

“Because I’m so happy—my heart can’t take it.” I pat my chest frantically, imitating a heart attack.

He laughs.

* * *

 

Suddenly, the door bursts open. I scramble to pull the covers over my chest.

“Merry Christmas!” calls Isabela. Before I know what’s happening, she’s jumped onto the edge of our bed. Fenris is rolling his eyes fervently in the distance while Merrill pretends to cover her face. Hawke is the last in—and he’s wearing an odd expression… This might be the first time he’s really _seen_ me with someone else—with someone important. That strikes me as rather myopic. _I_ have to watch him maul Merrill like a psychotic sex-bear every time we get together.

“Isabela!” I groan. “Didn’t you ever learn to knock?!”

She laughs girlishly, “If I’d _knocked_ , I wouldn’t have had a chance to see how pink you get when you’re naked and embarrassed.”

I roll my eyes.

Hawke takes a tentative step forward. “Brunch is almost ready…”

“Okay,” says Alistair. “Thanks…” He’s talking to Hawke, but he’s _looking_ at me—like I’m the only person in the room.

He’s kissing me _again_ , actually—in full view of everyone.

Hawke clears his throat noisily, “Okay… so that’s our cue…” He laughs and I see him ushering everyone out the way they came in my periphery—everyone but Isabela, who is watching me with rapt fascination.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

Alistair laughs feebly as I break away from him. He seems much more at ease than I am—maybe he’s a bit of an exhibitionist?

“Oh no, carry on,” she says.

We sit there staring at each other until she finally laughs and gets off the end of the bed.

“You win, Andy… I’ll see you downstairs…” she says, sliding out the door. She closes it without making a sound.

“She’s funny,” comments Alistair. He hasn’t moved toward getting up _even a little_ —not one muscle in his body seems to be flexed. He’s just rubbing a hand up and down my flank like we have all the time in the world.

“Yeah… she’s gotten me out of some really _crazy_ situations…” I mumble, thinking about the university fire. The newspapers read, ‘Mysterious, shrouded woman starts small fire in college dormitory.’

“I want you,” he says suddenly.

“What?”

He laughs, “I want you _so_ bad…” he raises an eyebrow and smirks.

“You heard Hawke… brunch?”

He scowls at me, but he’s still smirking too. His canine is exposed again—just like that other day. He kisses my chest and he’s suddenly making his way down my body, kissing and licking as he goes. By the time he sucks me into his mouth, I’m so hard it hurts.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He laughs. It’s all muffled, but he answers me, “I’m just having a small snack… don’t worry… I’ll still be hungry.”

I laugh and let my head fall back against the pillows. My eyes land somewhere on the canopy above me—it’s red, like so many other things in this house. Leandra loves red, apparently. While Alistair is doing unimaginably nice things to me beneath the covers, I can’t help but think about the way this week turned out. We were doing crazy stuff like this—blowjobs in the morning and whatnot—and then we weren’t speaking… and now we’re here again. Looking at it in those terms scares me—it would be so _easy_ to slide back to ‘not speaking.’

Alistair picks his head up suddenly. Cold air hits the spit he’s left behind and I shiver.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

I prop myself up on my elbows behind me and manage to smile. “Nothing… let’s just go have brunch?” I suggest.

He makes a strange face. “We’ve been together less than two weeks and you’re already prioritizing food over sex?”

He _looks_ cross, but he isn’t—he laughs a second later.

“Okay… okay...” he says, standing.

When he gets out of bed and I see him—completely naked in the morning light—I almost regret my decision. I _almost_ grab him around the waist and tackle him back into bed.

“Like the view?” he asks.

I nod and stand, wrapping my arms around him from behind. “Yeah… it’s beautiful…”

He turns his head and kisses me—as nicely as he can at this angle.

“Do you think we really _have to_ get dressed? Is that more of a guideline?” he asks.

“If you want to kill Leandra, that’s up to you…”

 

* * *

 

Downstairs, everyone is already assembled in the dining room. The Hawke family dining table is obscenely long—it fits all of us plus Leandra, Hawke’s twin siblings, and Sebastian, as well as a few other people I don’t know. Thankfully, Merrill has saved two seats for Alistair and me.

“Thanks, Merr,” I nod.

She smiles, “I had a feeling you would be a little while…”

She snickers, as does Isabela on our other side.

Leandra stands during this discourse—she’s looking at us skeptically.

Hawke makes a ‘ _shut up_ ’ expression in our direction and we all straighten. It’s absurd, really—we’re in our 30s, but she still treats us like we’re kids. In turn, we _act_ like kids around her.

“Well, I’d like to say thank you to my son and his friends for joining us this morning,” begins Leandra. Her voice is clear and her diction practiced. “And to my wonderful friends…” she smiles at the assorted stuffed-shirts I don’t know and raises her glass. “ _Merry Christmas_.”

Everyone toasts and laughs and claps, and the food appears in front of us almost instantly. We eat and laugh and drink and eventually retire into the living room. And Christmas passes more merrily than I ever expected—because we’re _here_ : me and Alistair and all my friends… a heap of arms and legs and smiles and laughter, who’s only Christmas wish is being _together_.

* * *

  


	12. Day Twelve: Christmas Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and company have one last party to round out the holidays.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated E: sex and whatnot...

* * *

Christmas ends just like it begins—suddenly. Only there’s one _amazing_ addition to my life that seemed to be deposited beneath the tree by someone _much better_ than Santa.

“Okay, it’s your turn,” says Isabela. She’s carrying a whole tray of food from the kitchen to the middle of Alistair’s living room.

“All right,” says Hawke. “Never have I ever… picked someone up in a coffee shop.”

Alistair and I look at each other and grin.

“Drink!” shouts Isabela, looking at me.

We pound back our shots and laugh.

“I can’t keep playing this game,” I wail. “I’m going to be _so_ drunk.”

We’re all sitting in a circle in front of Alistair’s tree like we were the other night, but this time he’s between my knees, leaning against my chest. I’ve had to take all these shots _around_ him.

“So… are you _together_ -together now?” asks Merrill. She’s flushed and probably super drunk. It makes her brave and nosy.

We look at each other. His face is so close to mine, it’s hard to keep it in focus, so I blink and kiss him.

“Yes,” I say when we’ve separated. “Together-together.”

“I’m _so_ glad,” he says. He’s talking to me, but everyone else groans.

“You’re going to be in the disgustingly cute phase now, aren’t you?” asks Hawke. He’s smiling, though. It’s a little bit of that snark sneaking out through the cracks in his gentlemanly facade.

“Well, it’s all _your_ fault, Buddy,” I point at him. “ _You’re_ the one who got us back together.”

He smiles wryly. “See? I told you I’m the one who keeps our group intact.”

We all laugh. Merrill hits him with a pillow.

The rest of the night passes as perfectly as life permits. We eventually say goodnight to everyone and are left alone to figure out what life after the holidays is like.

 

* * *

 

“Are you staying?” asks Alistair.

“I was thinking about it… do you want me to?” I wrap my arms around his waist and lean into him. There’s still some Christmas music playing in the background. It’s soft and slow. ‘ _The best things… happen while you’re dancing…’_ sings Danny Kaye.  It occurs to me that Alistair sort of _looks like_ Danny Kaye—at least in terms of his hair color—and I laugh aloud.

“What’s funny?” he asks.

In the process of hugging, we’ve started to sway.

“You look like Danny Kaye,” I run my fingers through his hair.

He laughs and presents me with his palm—a perfect waltzing frame. “I can dance like him too…”

I raise an eyebrow and take his hand.

He twirls me around—he wasn’t kidding; he really _can_ dance.

“When you hold a—” he’s singing, but he interrupts himself and laughs, “ _boy_ in your arms, that you’ve never held before…”

“You sing too?” I laugh.

“I used to do it more… now I just serenade men I’m hoping to sleep with,” he whispers in my ear. We’re cheek to cheek now, as the song suggests we ought to be.

“You don’t have to _hope_ ,” I tease. “Take me upstairs.”

He steps back from me and smirks. “In a minute…” He pulls me back down onto the floor and stares up at the tree. “Are you happy, Anders?” he asks.

“Of course,” I kiss his cheek and smile. “This is the best post-Christmas ever… usually it’s a letdown, but this time we have a _whole new year_ to look forward to.”

He smiles. “Yeah… I guess we _do_.”

He puts a palm against my cheek and I lean into it. Whenever I close my eyes, I feel a little like I’m _falling_ , which is not a good sign for how I’m going to feel tomorrow.

“I need some water,” I announce.

“I got it,” he hops up—faster than I can imagine doing—and returns with a cup a minute later.

“Thanks,” I swallow and try to let the last vestiges of Christmas wash over me. Tomorrow this will all be over.

“So do you have to go to work tomorrow?” he asks.

I nod. “Not until 11, but still…” I put the cup down next to us on the floor and lean into him. I meant to rest my head on his shoulder, but I miscalculate and end up dropping into his lap.

“Maybe I’ll come by…” he gently rubs his fingers against the shaved part of my scalp.

“For what?” I ask.

“To work out with you, silly…” he laughs.

“You couldn’t keep up…” I tease. In reality, I bet he _can_. He’s impressively athletic from what I’ve seen so far.

He laughs again, “ _This_ coming from the guy who can’t even sit up straight right now…”

I roll in his lap until I’m looking up at him. “Stop it…” I’m smiling stupidly; I can feel it.

He curls down to kiss me and lingers a little.

“ _Upstairs_?” I ask again.

He smiles. “Can you make it?”

“For you?” I sit up—it’s easier than I expect. “I could move mountains.”

 

* * *

 

In bed that night Alistair is so _indulgent_. He’s kind and gentle and incredibly enticing. His whole body feels like an extension of mine—with a better tan.

“Oh my god, Anders,” he groans. He’s leaning on his elbows in front of me—trying to stay upright, but failing. “You’re so amazing.”

I wrap my hands around the his hips and squeeze. His skin is soft, but the muscles underneath aren’t—they’re straining and tense. I deliberately slow myself down and lean over him to kiss a line down his spine.

“Fuck,” he whimpers. “You’re going to be the death of me—I can tell.”

“I really like how much you swear,” I announce. It’s a strange segue, but it’s true. I think he’s sexiest with a mouth full of expletives. 

“Well—keep fucking me; you'll hear more…” he laughs. It's a breathless laugh—punctuated by little gasps.

“For how long?” I ask.

“I don't know… if you continue torturing me like this we could stretch it out to last all night,” he pushes his hips back into me, urging me on.

I reach around his hip with my right hand and grab his cock. His skin is slightly sticky.

“Oh shit…”  he breathes.

“What?” I laugh. “You’d rather _not_ be touched?” It occurs to me that I’m actually being kind of _sexy_ —how did this happen?

“Fuck—if you stop I’m going to die…” he moans.

“Okay, Al…” The position I’m in is making it hard to thrust, but it doesn’t seem to matter. He could probably just _talk_ me into an orgasm. A minute later, he’s coming all over the sheets and I’m only seconds behind. We rush into his bathroom; I deal with the condom situation; he changes the sheets; we crawl between them—exhausted and happy.

“You’re so fucking good at that,” he whispers. He’s turned all the lights off and I can’t really see him, but I can tell he’s smiling from the way his voice sounds.

“Thank you…”

He snorts, “You don’t have to _thank_ me.”

“My parents taught me to respond that way to compliments,” I tease.

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his chest. Although he’s not very hairy, what _is_ there tickles against my cheek.

“So what do you want to do for New Year’s?” he asks.

“Oh… I hadn’t thought of it—do you have plans?”

He laughs again, “I want to do _this_ —think we can time it to be mid-orgasm when the clock strikes midnight?” he asks.

We both laugh.

“Probably…”

And that’s it—we drift off to sleep like this is only the _latest_ in a string of lifetimes we’ve been together. It’s the happiest I’ve been in a decade and I can’t _believe_ he’s mine. All I can think is that this is going to be a _fantastic_ year.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you soooo much for reading this quick little challenge! If you liked this, definitely subscribe to (or bookmark) the series because more chapters of the main story will be coming imminently as well as a late-winter multi-day challenge. :) 
> 
> I love Anderstair so much and I'm really pleased that so many of you do too. You're the best.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr or twitter @ponticle. I love to make new friends.


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